whynot | (no subject)

Entry tags:

.recs,
.remix

(no subject)

I bring you a list of awesome.

1.

capslock_merlin. When I talk about this show it's mostly in capslock anyway, so, perfect. If you don't care about being spoiled for Episode 11, please click here omg.

2.

reel_merlin. A list of suggested movies for claiming. Back to the Future AU? Hitchhiker's Guide AU? JURASSIC PARK AU? OCEAN'S 11 AU?!? OMFG. I DON'T KNOW WHICH TO FLAIL ABOUT MORE AND THEY HAVEN'T BEEN WRITTEN YETfalskdf';slgk;dfk'g';dal;sfdlk

2a. Ages ago I fiddled with the idea of a Boondock Saints AU where Peter and Edmund destroy shit and kill people in the name of god ~~andthentheyhavesex~~. It's not like they'd be completely out of their element. Aslan is totally Il Duce, but damned if I know who Smecker would be. Caspian is Greenly.

3. Speaking of Boondock Saints, In God's Country is greenapple's drabble-remix of my Boondock Saints fic Big Sky Country and it (the remix) is AMAZING. AMAZING. Connor/Murphy (warning: incest etc), rated R. Big ups to her for condensing 5000 words down to 400. Oh my gosh you guys, BOONDOCK SAINTS. GOOD TIMES. (Also, what is it about a canon with religious themes that makes it so prone to incest?)

4.

amory_vain remixed my Y Tu Mama Tambien fic here, and it is HOT. I, um... didn't do my drabble remix because I never got my assignment, and then I forgot about it. I FAIL REMIXTHEDRABBLE. But I talked to the mods and they say I can get in on it anyway, late as I am. If I do, I'll apparently be drabbling Heroes!

5. I like to go on TV Tropes' Merlin page and see new stuff get added to it after every episode. Is it just me or are the examples for HoYay/FoeYay extremely skimpy. It is not just me. Camelot is totally crawling with STDs. ETA: Was it one of you guys that added that last bit to Hoyay??

BACK TO THESIS.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

the last time peter smoked was with lucy on a job in san francisco. he had been napping one afternoon in the hostel, only to be shaken awake by lucy who shook a little baggie of weed in his face and asked if he wanted to smoke. he said no in a gruff tone, then she asked if he wanted roll one for her instead then. he still said no, but then lucy was lucy and was sweet and warm and she slid beside him under the covers, casually telling him how she procured the weed from the hostel manager blah blah blah, peter couldn't remember. because in-between, lucy kissed him and touched him into compliance and suddenly peter was rolling her a joint and, well, he was putting all this effort in so he might as well smoke it now. fuck it. which was probably what lucy planned all along.

he has never been able to deny his sisters anything.

"because," corin is saying, on the verge of losing his brain-to-mouth filter, "why 34? why 34 degrees? doesn't that seem like an arbitrary number?"

"32," edmund squeaks, trying to speak and hold his breath at the same time. he passes the joint to peter. "it's 32 degrees, freezing point."

"yeah whatever," corin cries out. "water freezes at 0 degrees, boils at 100, tell me why this isn't good enough for the americans. what is with the american grudge against the metric system?"

"corin, my man," says edmund, "i hate to break it to you, but you're american."

"i mean," he says helplessly, shrugging. "i guess."

the weed has a sweet smell in the philippines, a little bit like cloves. peter's windpipe burns with every inhale and he chases it with beer just for the psychosomatic effect. "it's done," he croaks, and edmund and corin look at him with bloodshot half-lidded eyes, and peter holds up the roach for proof.

"yoooouuuu," says corin, "wanna smoke another?"

"corin, i suspect i am physically unable to do anything except drink my beer."

"yeah," corin replies, "but. do you wanna smoke another?"

peter considers this. then he says, "yeah okay."

+

when susan finally emerges from the bathroom, caspian looks her up and down and concludes, "you look hot."

"i know," susan says simply.

"but, uh." he gestures vaguely at her ears and the silver & ruby earrings that adorn them. "you sure you wanna wear those? tonight?"

her gaze is as unflinching as her voice. "yes. i'm sure."

susan wears skin-tight red silk with big black flowers on it, the ankle-length skirt slit up to here, high-collared and sleeveless. her hair is twisted back from her face to show off her earrings.

lucy comes out of one of the bedrooms a few minutes later. she's wearing something strapless and green, and caspian makes a strangled sound like he's never expected to be so lucky in his life.

it's not that he looks bad -- if her brothers' lives weren't on the line, susan would be quite willing to play around with caspian a little -- but the black eyes and his bruised nose don't really go with his tux.

they take the elevator to the ground floor, where the concierge says, "mr. miraz is waiting for you in the private room," which turns out to be on the second floor. but the private room is empty except for one big table near the wide bank of windows, and susan finds her steps slowing as they emerge from the elevator.

it's not just miraz and prunaprisma sitting at the table.

but susan is susan fucking pevensie, grifter, con artist, and thief extraordinaire, so she takes one step and then another in her three inch heels and strides forward, vaguely wishing she'd worn a lower-cut dress. "why," she says sweetly, bending over the table, "you must be don patriso. i've heard so much about you."

caspian starts to squawk, but the sound is cut off abruptly, probably by lucy grinding one of her four-inch heels into his foot.

the don smiles at her. "likewise, my dear. you must be susan pevensie. my friend marco has told me so much about you and your siblings."

"i'm sure," susan says, and takes the seat next to him. "i don't think you've met my sister lucy, and this is caspian, miraz's nephew, and an associate of my family's."

"caspian the ninth's son?" asks patriso as caspian leans over to shake his hand. "why, i heard you'd gone missing. kidnapped, some of the stories said. i offered to help your uncle, but he said he had it well in hand."

susan sneaks a look at miraz out of the corner of her eye. he's nearly red with fury.

"he just ran off," miraz says through clenched teeth. "you know how boys are."

"as i remember," caspian says, smiling through his teeth, "you tried to have me killed, and then when that failed, settled for wrecking my reputation instead. do you know, don patriso, that i was expelled from harvard business school for cheating? not that i'd managed to attend any of my classes for a week, what with the whole, 'my uncle has hired assassins to try and kill me' thing. that wasn't doing much for my grades."

"so you became a thief," patriso notes, sounding amused.

"well, it's a lot like business," caspian says, still smiling, and susan supposes that there's a reason peter hired him after all. something other than his looks, and peter's usually not that shallow.

"and i had a knack for it," he adds.

to marco abruzzi, who's glowering, lucy says sweetly, "you must be the son of a bitch who's trying to kill my brothers. i'm peter's youngest sister, lucy. i'm wearing stiletto heels and i'm sitting next to you."

corin wakes up the next morning with his tongue and eyes feeling too big for his head, and his head probably in some sort of vise, his stomach in a blender. the only thing that made him get up was the sneaking suspicion that if he didn't, he would throw up on his bed, and that was not something he wanted to deal with if alma was around. squinting, he made his way to the bathroom, spent 15 minutes throwing up into the toilet, a few seconds rinsing out his mouth while pointedly not looking at the mirror, and then remembered that the last thing he remembered from last night was being half-dressed in the ocean, singing at the moon.

that would explain was he fell asleep with his shoes on, but shirtless.

shuffling back to his bed, corin saw that someone had put a bucket next to his bed, and that he didn't need to have gone all the way to the bathroom at all, but in retrospect, at least he wouldn't have to deal with disposing it later.

he stripped to his boxers, crawled under the covers, and fell back asleep.

+

"if i was your father," edmund had been saying to him last night, as they all three stepped into the ocean, "i would just live here all the time."

"i miss the beach when i'm in the city," corin slurred. "i miss the city when i'm here."

"do you ever miss america?" peter asked.

"of course. and when i am there, i miss the philippines." this was when corin, in a fit of energetic inspiration, whipped of his shirt and threw it to the night sky. the stars were endlessly bright, shivering with their own light or maybe he was just drunk, and the sand beneath his feet gave way distractingly, softly, like whispers. "i am always home and away from it."

"yeah," said edmund, "i know the feeling."

+

corin wakes in the late afternoon, still fuzzy, but at least he isn't in so much pain. he rolls out of his bed in just his boxers and shuffles down the hall to the disaster of the living room, and catalogs the overflowing ashtrays, the half-hearted empties pyramid, and half-empty bottles. a vision of an angry aravis floats through his head, giving him hell for being a pig as his father stood behind her not saying anything, but his facial expression clearly expressing that he agreed and was glad he found someone else to say it for him.

whatever. they're not here.

he turns down the hall to where the guest rooms are.

within a 20 minute walk from the compound, there is a lean-to that sells the bomb-ass adobo and fresh coconut juice from the shell, and seeing as he threw up the contents of his stomach (and probably some of the lining) earlier, he is famished.

the door to peter's room is wide open, and it is empty. the bed is neat and untouched.

corin frowns.

this is when he realizes that the sounds he's hearing is not his brain being fuzzy, and not part of the auditory collage of daily life going on outside the house. it's coming from--

he turns around.

the door to edmund's room is open just a crack. corin knows those kinds of sounds, and instead of turning around and maybe watching some tv until the business is done, he softly steps closer, and he peeks.

okay so. corin's not gay or anything, but his throat goes dry when he sees edmund breathless against the headboard, one hand clutching the sheets and the other on peter's head between his legs. and edmund's head rolls back, and he makes these keening noises that make his (edmund's, not corin's) adam's apple bob up and down, sounding like he's trying not to make any noise at all but it's difficult, it's really difficult.

and peter, with his hair scruffed up and his naked body relaxed except for his shoulders, which are tensed. and his head, going up and down, leisurely, up and down in this almost lazy way. and edmund, trying not to make a sound.

and corin, getting a hard-on. he doesn't step away.

edmund is lankier than peter, and in his best and worst times gives off the impression of being a shadow -- not really in the sense of following peter (though there's a bit of truth in that) but in the sense that he keeps his own mysteries and is impossible to catch. the golden light of late afternoon pours in through the windows and emphasizes the lines of their muscles, highlights peter's hair and tints edmund's dark hair a dark bronze shade. and when edmund's mouth parts in a gasp, corin notices that his lips look soft, and that when edmund's eyes flutter close, it's... it's kind of hot.

not that corin is gay or anything.

and then peter picks up the pace and corin's heartbeat quickens like it's him that peter's sucking off and not edmund, and, god, corin should go take a cold shower or something, but. but edmund suddenly changes from short shallow breaths to deep long breaths, and his body goes taut and his pretty mouth parts (what? did corin just think that?), and he groans softly in the back of his throat, defeat and victory, as all tension goes out of his body.

"oh fuck," edmund mumbles, sinking backwards. "jesus. pete."

peter snaps his fingers and points sharply at something on the nightstand. edmund reaches for the plastic cup they had been using as an ashtray last night -- corin recognizes the pattern of cigarette burns he deliberate burned along the rim -- and hands it to peter, who spits in it and hands it back to edmund.

"oh thanks," says edmund, still a little out of breath. "how kind."

"shut up," says peter thickly, and reaches for his pants and starts rummaging through the pockets, "and turn around."

jesus fucking h christ on a motherfucking pogo stick is what corin thinks. face red and cock hard, he quietly slips away to take a shower, and possibly jack off.

HAPPY LONGEST THREAD DAY, BELOVED

argh bastard computer

the thing is that edmund's always been the good one. peter was always out being a juvenile delinquent and barely passing high school -- not that he's not smart, more that he doesn't give a damn -- and susan seemed to embrace the opportunity to be crazyass peter pevensie's sister and was out at parties and with boys and, like, stealing cars or whatever -- there came a point when susan seemed in danger of sliding into peter's line of work.

that was before she actually did, of course.

but edmund keeps his head down, does well in school, plays varsity sports, doesn't get into fights or drink or do drugs or any of that -- well, he drinks a little bit, but not that much. it's high school, after all. he has a plan that involves yale and a jd and taking over the known universe.

but he's still peter pevensie's younger brother, and that has certain connotations within the school system. he's on the cross-country team, not the football team, but they're both out on the field at the same time, and some of the football boys are talking about their nights.

"and i was going to get some tail, man, you know how great susan pevensie's tits are and i bet her cunt's just as --"

edmund stops stretching, stands up.

"-- and that asshole brother of hers, you know, crazyass peter pevensie comes over and you'd think he'd snapped his fingers and said, like, fucking come or something, because the next thing you know susan's getting up and i'm holding her panties in my fucking hand --"

"edmund!" eustace hisses from next to him.

"-- anyway, whatever, there are plenty of other chicks at the party, so whatever. and later i go out to throw up and what do i see? peter fucking susan on the hood of my goddamn car, which is where i wanted to be. but he's got that short skirt of hers, you know the one i mean, up and his jeans down around his ankles and they're actually fucking, you know? i mean, i knew she was easy, but her goddamn brother, man, that's some serious kind of fucked up --"

"hey," edmund says, "asshole." and punches him in the face. "shut the fuck up about my sister!" he yells, right before the entire football team descends on him.

which is how starting a riot between the football team and the cross-country team is all peter's fault, even though peter wasn't even in school that day.

but the thing is that edmund spends a lot of time watching his brother and his sister, and he knows when things change. he knows that it doesn't have a damn thing to do with the fact that peter's spending less time in school and more time with dino falcone's gang, which is going to get him in jail if it doesn't get him killed. he doesn't know what changes, but something does, somehow, which is why when cross-country practice is cancelled a couple weeks later and edmund comes home early, he stays quiet instead of calling out after he unlocks the door.

lucy is still at cheer practice, their mother is at her does-it-never-end book club, their father is at work. and there are noises coming from upstairs.

edmund puts down his backpack and his cross-country bag, toes off his shoes, and pads upstairs on sock feet. his and peter's bedroom door is open, just a crack, and edmund peers in.

peter's on his back, susan straddling him, and his hands are big and certain on her hips as he thrusts up into her. they're familiar with each other -- there's no other way to put it. susan puts her head back, gasping, and edmund wants to look away, because this is his brother and his sister, and he shouldn't be -- they shouldn't be --

but he can't look away. he bites down on his knuckle to keep from making any sound, and almost draws blood when peter says something softly, smirking, and susan's distracted enough to gasp and punch him in the shoulder. peter flips them over, and jesus, susan's breasts -- the smooth line of peter's back edmund knows, but he's never seen it like this, beaded with sweat, and jesus christ --

he sees peter's shoulders tense and hears the sound he makes, half a keen and a half a curse, and susan catches his head in both her hands and pulls him down to kiss her. peter slips free of her, kisses his way down the side of her neck, between her breasts, and then his head is between her legs and the noises she's making --

edmund sneaks away down the hall, his cheeks hot and his dick hard, and goes back downstairs. ten minutes later he opens the front door loudly and yells, "hey, i'm home! is there anything to eat?" and peter yells back down, "god, shut up!" and susan adds, "i'm trying to study, ed!"

but edmund knows.

so what they say is true, about the pevensies.

corin remembers back to encounters and favors with them: a handful of times in the USA, a few times in various parts of southeast asia, and that one time with susan and peter in the south of france. okay so they keep it in the family, corin thinks to himself as hot water sluices down his body, and he tries to juxtapose this new knowledge with his memories, but he doesn't really remember anything out of the ordinary. except maybe susan's cleavage.

and lucy's smile -- he had a raging crush on lucy and flirted wildly with her, and while she flirted back and giggled readily and didn't rebuff his casual touches, corin also got the impression of being held at arm's length. but whatever, they were both having fun. you take what you can, you know? and one time, when they were drunk in bangkok, lucy even kissed him back.

+

to no one's surprise, lune is too busy to come down to negros oriental himself. to everyone's delight, the person he sent in his stead is aravis.

"vissy!" corin gurgles, holding out his arms, and aravis rolls her eyes as she sinks into his embrace.

"i told you never to call me that," she says, and kisses them all on both cheeks, smiling. and later, after the pleasantries ("oh corin, i don't smoke weed anymore." "yeah... so do you wanna smoke some weed?" insert a confused pause here, and then a sigh: "...oh fine.") and the updates of whereabouts ("cor wanted to come but the government inspector is bearing down on the project again." peter says sulkily, "miraz," and leaves it at that.), they are all at the lean-to not far from the compound, eating the bomb-ass adobo and coconut juice from the shell.

corin loves this place (as 'place'-ish a roadside shack by the woods can be), has a soft spot for the people who run it and their easy manner: benny, an fearless old man with a paunch, and marga, his gentle wife. benny calls him 'pare' ('buddy') and marga calls him 'hijo' ('boy'), and corin calls them 'tito' (uncle) and 'tita' (aunt) and sometimes gets extra helpings for free.

"how is your papa, hijo?" marga asks when she brings them beers.

"busy as always," corin replies. he looks at aravis. "apparently he's in jakarta?"

"taipei," aravis corrects. "he was in jakarta yesterday."

"you become more beautiful every time, hija," marga smiles at aravis, who blushes and thanks her. "you tell your husband, don't work too hard. you tell him, don't forget his beautiful wife, ha?" and marga bustles back to the kitchen area, smiling contentedly to herself.

"is my brother taking care of you, aravis?" corin drawls, and she punches his arm.

"stop. and yes he is. but we've got more important things to talk about."

"excellent," says edmund. "tell me, how are pete and i not to die at the hands of the mafia?"

aravis smiles. "the grace of god."

edmund stares at her. then he scowls and jabs his cigarette in the air in her direction. "don't fuck with me."

"i'm not!" she crows. "think about it, edmund. the italian mafia, right? staunchly catholic, right? the mafia has connections with the catholic church. and lune, he was raised catholic and he has connections with the clergy still." aravis pauses. "weren't you guys raised catholic?"

peter and edmund exchange glances. peter exhales cigarette smoke and says, "i mean, like you said: the mafia are catholic."

"so," edmund hesitates, "what? susan and lucy find some priests?"

"no," aravis replies. "a bishop. one bishop in particular."

peter and edmund stare at her expectantly.

she says, "his name aslan."

randomly: VATICAN MAFIA (http://www.bibliotecapleyades.net/vatican/vatican_mafia.htm)

YOU GET A DOUBLE FEATURE, 'cos i feel like it (OMG FINALS ADD). okay, the following is a REMIX, of your porn. the guy on the football team that edmund punched out? his name is greg flaherty, and these are the events of greg's story through peter's eyes.

when peter asks, "are you fucking greg flaherty?" susan answers, "yes."

(her tone says "i'm not afraid of you" and his tone says "i know you're not, that's why i'm asking.")

peter says, "he's an asshole, su."

"so are you," she says simply, and walks away.

+

it didn't change anything, not really, sleeping with susan. it's not like they can lay claim to each other, not like regular lovers, and in a way they already have more claim to each other than any declaration can guarantee.

they are siblings: susan stumbles along in peter's footprints, drunk after half a glass of whiskey, or coughing so hard halfway through a bowl that she almost throws up. he knows she adores him, and he adores that she does, that she tries to be both hard and fabulous to one-up him, to rule as a queen does, and peter being the only one who knows how soft she can be.

the boys of finchley fall at her feet and they eye her tits and her ass, they touch her when she lets them. and, for peter, there are always girls who love bad boys -- they see his soft blond hair and his cool blue eyes and they linger around his presence, hoping to be shown more of the world. they want peter to simultaneously take them apart and make them stronger, and he does not know how to do this. these girls frustrate him and that's when he finds himself thinking of susan, how she has never wanted anything from him but a place at his side, as an equal, an ally.

+

sleeping with susan didn't change anything but sometimes he kind of wished it did.

but just a little.

not that much.

+

peter hates house music but lombardi loves it, and the steady thud-thud-thud of it resonates in his ears as he makes his way through the house, solo cup of beer in one hand and his head full of greg's hand on susan's ass (and everywhere else) and susan looking vaguely annoyed by it, greg looking smug, between classes. but on his way to smoke a cigarette in the woods behind the gym after-school, peter saw them making out in greg's car anyway.

people at the party see him as he walks by and they go "pete!" "peter!" "pevensie!" and sometimes he'll stop and shoot the shit, sometimes he won't, and by the time he finds susan and greg dry-humping in the bathroom, his cup is empty. he tosses it into the trash.

"dude, there's another bathroom upstairs," says greg, but it's not like peter is listening and he doesn't need to use the bathroom anyway. peter's eyes are on susan, and hers on his, and there's a look to her like she maybe got caught doing something she shouldn't, which is strangely satisfying because susan makes this deal about making her own "shoulds" and "shouldn'ts".

so he says, in the tone he knows she recognizes, "su."

peter reads the moment of conflict in her eyes, then she seems to decide something. turns back to greg and kisses him one last time, untangles herself from him, and trots to her brother, adjusting her skirt. "i'll see you later," she lies to greg, who is looking vaguely gobsmacked.

"i can't believe you fucked greg flaherty," says peter.

"oh, fuck off," susan mutters, rolling her eyes. "get me a drink."

susan raises her eyebrows when peter returns with the johnny walker he found in the parlor. "what, they didn't have any beer?"

"the keg's tapped."

and this is how they get very careless. they sit on the back porch and share cigarettes and stolen booze, and when kids come out to smoke cigarettes, they see peter and susan with their johnny walker and they wander over and start small talk, trying subtly (some less than others) to get into the booze circle. but it's not a booze circle, it's just a booze duo, and when someone actually does have the audacity to ask for a slug of johnny walker directly, peter and susan say no without explanation and let the situation get awkward for the poor soul, just because they can.

sometime around midnight, susan looks at him with unfocused eyes and says, "let's go home," and he mumbles okay and doesn't realize how drunk he is until he stands up. susan puts the johnny walker, still half-full, in her bag, then hooks arms with her brother and they stumble off into the night.

"greg disappeared," peter points out. "didn't come to find you."

"i disappeared," susan corrects.

"maybe it's for the best."

"yeah probably."

"he is a huge douchetard."

"i know," says susan, "but in case you haven't noticed, i kind of have a weakness for huge douchetards."

"uhhhhh," says peter, because in his state he can't figure out if he's being insulted or, like, complimented, or something. or if susan is talking about something else entirely. except, probably not, because oh shit she's suddenly in front of him now and she's kind of leaning in and she's like--

she's kissing him, one second, two seconds, and then steps back. then he's kissing her, and it's a little deeper, a little sloppier, and susan's hands are on his shoulder and he's not sure who she's steadying.

peter says, "are you saying i'm a douchetard?"

susan laughs, and kisses him again, and she is soft and warm and familiar and her mouth tastes of johnny walker, just like his.

+

"get the FUCK off my car!"

peter doesn't realize the instruction is directed at him until susan squeaks, "shit!" in his ear and pushes him away. he stumbles backwards, bewildered, and susan slides off the car in an awkward sort of way.

greg flaherty's fury cuts through the night: "you little shits! you fucked-up sons of bitches, if you fuck up my car you're paying for it, you motherfucking sluts!"

peter has never had to run away and pull his pants up at the same time, and it is a tricky process. there is a first time for everything though and, who knows, he might have to do this again someday. susan maybe has it a little easier, just having to pull her skirt down -- peter still can't believe she wasn't wearing underwear that whole time -- and they weave and stumble into the night as fast as they can, feeling both mortified and guiltily amused, but mostly tipsy.

a block and a half away, peter gasps, "i can't believe that just happened!" adrenalin still pumping.

"do you think he saw us?" asks susan. "i mean, our faces. does he know it's us?"

"did he say our names?"

"maybe. i thought i heard him say pevensie," says susan, "but it also could've been..." and then she just trails off, and peter doesn't blame her, because nothing in the world sounds like 'pevensie'.

"shit," peter mutters. "shit shit shit SHIT. fuck." and he just lets loose with a long stream of curses and invectives, but it's not like it's going to change anything if greg flaherty did see them fucking on his car. "we're going to be lynched. they're going to, like, hang us."

"don't be ridiculous," says susan, but there is a note of uncertainty in her voice. "greg is wasted and it's not like he's gonna be a reliable witness."

"i mean," says peter, running his hand through his hair: a nervous tic. "i guess. i mean, now what?"

susan says, "now you walk me to the 7-11. i'm out of cigarettes."

and peter sees the wisdom of her suggestion -- he is out of cigarettes himself. "alright," he sighs. "let's go."

they do.

peter skips school to hang out in the back room of the falcone garage, going over the plans of what will be the heist that nearly gets him killed. peter and dino are the youngest guys here; the rest of them are all sons and brothers of victor falcone's mobsters, mobbed up guys. peter's the only natural blond in the room and he has to admit that he's kind of thrilled to be here, because these are all guys that have done this kind of shit before and peter's new to it. so's dino, to be fair, but dino's victor falcone's youngest son; that gets him points.

what he's not expecting is for leo falcone to open the door to the back room and say, "hey, pevensie, there's a phone call for you."

"what?" peter says blankly.

"he says he's your brother."

"fuck," peter swears, and gets up, because he's going to kill edmund, and how the hell does edmund even know he's here, anyway.

he takes the phone from leo and closes the door behind him. "what the hell, ed," he says for a greeting, and then regrets it immediately when he hears edmund's voice, high and a little pained.

"hey," edmund says, "pete."

"what is it?" peter says, softening his voice.

"can you, um, can you come pick me up? i'm, um."

"yeah, sure," peter says, and goes back into the room to pick up his jacket. "i'll be back in a couple minutes," he says to dino, digging his keys out of his pocket.

"i'm not at the school," edmund adds in his ear. "i'm, um, i'm at the hospital."

peter almost keys his car. "what the hell, ed?" he spits, and then, "wait, no, i'm coming, i'll be there in a sec, hold on, are you all right?"

"yeah," edmund says, "i'm just, i -- no, not really."

peter possibly breaks two or three speed limits on his way to the hospital, but no one pulls him over, so whatever. he tears inside to see edmund sitting forlornly on one of the hospital chairs, holding an ice pack to his face with his left hand. he can't use the right one because it's in a cast up to his elbow.

"what the hell," peter spits out, bearing down on him, and crouches down in front of his brother. he tilts edmund's chin up carefully with two fingers, pushing the icepack away, and gets a good look at edmund's face. "who the fuck did this to you? i'll fucking kill them."

"yeah, um," edmund says awkwardly, and then looks to his left.

peter looks over too, because he can't not, and sees greg flaherty with his face beat all to hell and a cheerleader in his lap. "i'm going to kill him," he says again, and stands up.

edmund drops the ice pack to grab his arm. "peter!"

greg looks up. "hey, pevensie," he says. "your brother doesn't have your arm, although to be fair --" he makes a rude gesture, and only the fact that edmund's hanging onto him with all his strength keeps peter from ending it right then and there.

"i'll take care of you later," he spits. "you don't fucking touch my brother."

"peter," edmund begs, and peter says, "come on, ed, let's get out of here."

he's limping on his way out to the car and peter digs his keys out and very deliberately keys a long ugly scratch across the driver's side door of greg's convertible. edmund doesn't say anything even after they've pulled out onto the street.

"so i can't take you home," peter says after a moment.

"so leave me at the library," edmund says.

"so we're going back to the garage."

"falcone's garage?" edmund says, and then, "okay."

they're quiet for a few more minutes, and then, at a red light, peter says, "so why did greg go after you?"

edmund studies his hands. "i kind of punched him in the face," he says.

"what?" because edmund's the good son, the one who doesn't do stuff like, well, stuff like this.

"and then i may have started a riot. between the football team and the cross-country team."

he pauses. "please say something."

"i don't know whether to tell you i'm proud or to tell you off."

"i think that's what we'd call hypocrisy."

"this is true," peter allows, and pulls into the parking lot of falcone's garage. "look, do you have your books or something? because i have to bring you in with me, and i can't --"

"yeah, i've got homework," edmund says, picking up his backpack, and then, in a rush, "pete what are you doing here?"

peter doesn't answer.

bringing in his kid brother raises some eyebrows, but he installs edmund in the corner with a coke and his schoolbooks and goes back to the plans.

"so i'm thinking the ventilation shafts," gino says.

"no one's ever going to fit through there, idiot," dino points out.

"none of us," gino says, and then looks over peter's shoulder.

"you are not bringing my brother into this, ventucchio," peter spits out. "there's a fucking back door and a roof entrance, don't make it any more complicated than it already is."

"there's a goddamned security system."

"so disconnect it, asshole."

"you disconnect it."

"cut the power," edmund says from behind peter.

"what?"

"edmund," peter points out. "go back to your homework. or machiavelli, whatever."

"no, i want to hear what the kid has to say," gino says.

"look, he's just --"

"well," edmund says, sounding nervous, "if you -- i mean -- for the entire block. so no one's going to notice that it's just at the jewelry store."

"there's a backup generator," peter points out.

edmund deflates. "oh."

"i like it, though," dino declares. "we can hit the rest of the street too!"

"yeah, i'm just -- going to take my brother home," peter says.

"pete, i'm fine," edmund protests. "i thought you were all eager to get back here!"

"you've got a broken arm!"

"wrist!"

"shut up or get out, pevensie," barty rossi barks.

peter turns on his brother. "edmund," he warns. "don't say anything else. just sit down and do your homework."

"you really suck at being a responsible older brother," edmund says, but he goes back to his corner anyway.

OH BACKSTORY

when they get home, susan is shuffling around the house in pajama pants and one of their father's frayed college hoodies. fuzzy slippers. her hair in a careless bun. she's eating doritos and there are orange crumbs on her lips.

"did you go to school like that?" peter asks.

"whatever," says susan rolling her eyes. "at least i went to school. how was dino's?"

"same old."

"what happened to you, ed?" susan asks him, like she's asking him which shirt looks better or how the weather is, like his wrist isn't in a cast. she shuffles over to him and edmund automatically holds out his hand for her inspection.

"he got into a fight," says peter.

"well, you don't have to sound so smug about it," susan frowns at him. she looks back at edmund and her expression softens a little, and suddenly her eyes seem conspicuously blue and luminous, her skin pale, and the doritos crumbs on her lips easy to brush off with a touch of his fingers. susan says, "was it worth it?"

edmund looks at the floor. "yeah," he says quietly.

+

jurassic park is on tv, and while edmund goes upstairs to do his homework ("i'm a little old for dinosaurs." "no one's ever too old for dinosaurs!") peter and susan do paper-rock-scissors to see who microwaves the popcorn, and peter wins. he lounges on the couch watching jeff goldblum deadpan at the camera when the smell of butter fills the room, and susan settles next to him with the popcorn bowl on her lap.

"did you pour in extra butter?" peter asks, grabbing a handful.

"of course," susan replies, turning up the volume. "what do you take me for?"

and by the time the brachiosaurus sneezes all over the girl who screams all the time, the popcorn bowl is empty and peter takes to tugging at her hoodie and saying things like, "how do you not get lost in there?" while susan just smiles and pushes his hands away and pretends dinosaurs are more interesting. and the more she pushes his hands away, the more he comes at her, and then they are wrestling on the couch, and she is winning. so peter pushes susan's knee out from under her and she yelps as she falls on top of him, and he has his arms around her and isn't letting go.

"i can't even feel you in there," he says through laughter. "it feels like i'm hugging a pile of laundry."

"get a room, you guys," lucy calls out sing-song as she walks through the living room to the kitchen.

UMMMMM totally inspired by that behind the scene photo where anna was wearing the giant hoodie, YOU KNOW WHICH I MEAN?? (and she was hugging will who was in armor, eeeeeeeee.) HOODIE!SUSAN. MMMMM.

i. had. a. scene. and then my ie abruptly shut. DAMN YOU COMPUTER. (and then the fire alarm went off, which didn't do much for my temper either.)

they are in atlantic city when they meet professor digory kirke.

"get up," peter coaxes, shaking her awake, and susan hits him in the face with her pillow and rolls over, trying to get back to sleep. "su, come on, get up."

"fuck off, peter," she mumbles. "i was driving today. i want --"

"we're going dancing," peter adds, and he sounds ridiculously hopeful.

"oh, all right," susan says, and lets peter drag her out of bed. she also lets him dress her, since it's obvious that he has a plan (may god help him). when he steps away from her, she's wearing one of the two little black dresses she's accumulated over the past year. this is the one cut up to here and so tight that she can't actually wear anything under it. when peter bends down to do up the straps on her four-inch heels, he stays on his knees, pressing soft kisses up the insides of her thighs as susan clutches at his hair, breathing hard and trying not to make too much noise.

"ed and lu --" she gasps as he pushes up the skirt.

"right," peter says, head pressed against her hip for a moment before he straightens.

he's in slacks and a white dress shirt, bowtie undone around his neck, and he looks so fucking good that susan's more than inclined to push him back down on the bed and crawl onto of him right there. except the same argument that she already made still applies, so she restrains herself.

they do in fact go dancing. they also go pickpocketing, and after they've stripped the wallets of all cash, they deposit them in the lost and found, and go on to no less than seven different clubs. by the time they finally manage to find their way to an all-night diner, susan is swaying in her heels and even peter is looking frayed around the edges, but they do have upwards of a thousand dollars in cash.

peter is stealing fries off susan's plate when the old man pulls up a chair to their table.

"your technique is admirable, my dears," he says.

"who the hell are you?" peter demands, his eyes wide with alarm.

"especially for ones so young," he continues. "i've been following your work since the job you pulled in new orleans. you could, of course, use some tutelage. where are your brother and sister just now?"

"who the hell are you?" peter spits again.

the man puts a business card on the table and then stands up. "you should try the milk shakes here," he recommends, and then he's gone.

"what did you do with her panties?"
greg makes a face. "dude. i threw them away."

+

the day after aravis arrives in negros oriental, it rains, and it rains hard. they sit on the porch eating lychee and smoking cigarettes for hours, watching the rain, talking about everything and nothing, buoyant and comfortable. corin is telling some anecdote about him and cor at a club in hong kong, but it sounds kind of just like the one where he and cor were in a club in kuala lumpur, so edmund zones out and thinks about how lucy would chide him for smoking as many cigarettes as he has been (corin and peter smoke like chimneys, and edmund finds it increasingly easy to cave under peer pressure, especially when it's not really pressure, just corin passing his pack around whenever he has one, a gesture of affection and familiarity). lucy, who smokes weed but doesn't smoke cigarettes, who ran out into lune's dasmarinas garden in the middle of a typhoon, the last time they were here, calling over her shoulder, "the water's fine!"

"you're going to get struck by lightning!" susan called back.

cor had crossed his arms with an uncomfortable look on his face and said something like, "there are probably whole shanty towns being washed away right now."

and lucy's dress had stuck to her skin and edmund could see the outlines of her body, and then he ran out into the garden and into the rain, grabbed her hand and danced with her. she shrieked in delight and he twirled her, he tugged her closer and dipped her and loved her.

"god, foreigners," he heard cor comment, and susan replying, "but aren't you one?"

it rained so hard he could barely keep his eyes open, felt like maybe the raindrops would bruise his skin. through squinted eyes and a film of water, lucy danced, a blur of laughter, and later as they warmed up in the bath, she would tell him he was an awful dancer but that she appreciated his effort. so he splashed her, and she splashed him back, but they stopped before they made a complete mess of the bathroom.

I DON'T KNOW WHY OR WHERE I AM PICKING UP THIS EDMUND/LUCY SUDDENLY. it is very strange. peter/lucy, also. but peter/lucy i have always kind of liked.

the last thing peter is expecting is the phone call from susan.

"we have a job," she tells him.

"is this job in hong kong?" he inquires. "i thought we were trying to avoid being killed."

"miraz set up a meeting with don patriso --"

"what?"

"-- and he'll call off the dogs for exactly one week."

"which accomplishes what exactly?"

"one week in order to rob the smithsonian."

peter has a bad feeling about this. "rob the smithsonian of what?"

"the hope diamond."

-
-

"oh my god," edmund says when peter breaks the news to him. "we're going to get shot by the secret service."

"i don't think the secret service actually patrols the smithsonian. or that the smithsonian has any connection with the government. wait, i thought you were the smart one."

"i'm on strike."

-
-

"it could be worse," lucy confides to peter over the phone. "i heard that he was also considering the crown jewels of england."

"what --"

"but he thought it might be a little hard to explain to the foreign assassins he's sent after you that they need to take a week off."

"i need a drink," peter says.

"it's two in the afternoon!"

"not here."

EH WHAT. 'kay i'll just sit here, with my popcorn, huddling under a pile of backstory.

susan finds the gun on the top shelf of peter's closet when she goes looking for cigarettes, and there is both panic and rage at a) the gun itself, and b) how unsurprised she is. she wants to be more surprised, she wants to, but she's staring at it now in her hands unable to pretend anymore. that when peter goes with dino, there's more going on than petty thieving and, what, making fake IDs and shit. susan sees red and she feels so graceless with this thing in her hands, holding it at an awkward angle at a distance from her body like it might, what. like it might kill her.

when peter comes home that night, susan is sitting on the steps of the front porch with her fourth cigarette, and in the middle of his cheeky grin and his "aw, you waiting for me?" susan crushes the rest of her cigarette underfoot and lunges at him, shoving him backwards so hard he nearly topples. and how could you, she is saying, how could you, i know what you have in your room peter and you're the biggest fucking idiot that i know

and all these words, she doesn't even know what she's saying anymore. peter, with some difficulty, grabs her forearms and goes, "susan. susan. susan." like by saying her name three times he might bend her to his will like in those old fairy tales.

"--and i bet you don't even have a license for it, i mean of course you don't, because you're a child, peter, you're a child and you're only pretending you're not that thing in your closet proves it, it proves it oh peter--"

"susan." he shakes her. "listen to me!"

"you're going to get arrested," she hisses. "this isn't games anymore!"

and eyes boring into her he says, "i know."

"get rid of it. throw it away, i don't want that thing in my house. i don't want you touching it."

and then they just look at each other, each with different shades of caution, susan with challenge and peter as if trying to solve a puzzle. and peter says, "all right."

"promise."

peter hesitates. then, "i promise."

she narrows his eyes at his hesitation. susan wrenches herself from his arms and goes back inside the house, slams the door. edmund from the den yells, "jesus, su, you're gonna break that thing!" but she ignores him and goes to her room. from her window she can she the plume of peter's cigarette smoke rising into the air, from where she had been sitting waiting for him, not long ago.

OH NOES everyone's spiral into criminality and debauchery is kinda making me like this: :-(
it's like, "oh susan IF ONLY YOU KNEW"

HELL YES BACKSTORY. the frontstory is just, like...i don't know, at the moment.

edmund is awake when peter stumbles into their room, the knob turning one two three times before he finally gets it open, standing in the center of the room and shaking blindly. he doesn't seem to notice that the light is on, that edmund is doing chemistry homework at his desk, trying to figure out what hydrogen sulfide and phosphate make when put together.

"pete," edmund says, standing up. "peter, what --"

it takes peter a minute to realize that he's talking, and when he does he jerks, staring at edmund blindly.

there's something red all over his hands. first edmund thinks it's paint, but it's too --

it's not paint.

"oh my god," edmund says. "are you all right, are you --"

peter stares at him with wide blue eyes, and he looks very young, and very scared.

edmund stumbles around his desk chair and grabs his arm. "peter, are you all right?" he asks, and peter nods, dazed.

"okay, you need to -- you need to wash your hands, because --"

he has to shepherd peter into the bathroom, and peter doesn't seem to realize what's going on until edmund pushes him into the shower clothes and all and turns it on and then he blinks.

the water going down the drain is red, and peter makes a strangled sound and reaches for the soap.

they're both soaked by the time peter's coherent enough to get out of the shower, but the first thing he does is grab edmund's arms. "ed, i need you to pack a bag," he says.

"okay," edmund agrees, even though his brain is screaming what the fucking hell but he'll follow his brother to tne end of the earth and beyond, come hell or high water, and if peter tells him to pack a bag, then he'll pack a goddamned bag.

peter gives him a thin smile and plucks at his damp sleeves. "don't bring your schoolbooks," he says.

I KNOW WHAT YOU MEAN. did you mean all four of them heist out the smithsonian?? or just su, lu, and cas. i was thinking we should swap lucy for one of the boys, either boy. say it's peter, 'cos abruzzi is like, "tell your brother to come back. we got things to say to him." and of course susan is like, "NO." but lucy lets it slip during webcamming and susan is like, PISSED, 'cos she doesn't want pete and ed to worry. and lucy just frowns at her and says, "we have to be up front about everything, su, this is no time for secrets." (but you know, susan and peter kind of GO NUTS when the subject at hand is EACH OTHER. OR SOMETHING. oh god, this thread, it is where i do all my lizard-hindbrain shipping, like i am some sort of victorian gentleman who does nasty things at the brothel so i can come home and be proper to my wife.)

okay so then peter is like, "i'm coming back," all brusque (and secretly missing susan) and susan is like, "NO STAY THERE," and peter is like, "no way."

"i'm coming back too," says ed.

and EVERYONE is like, "no."

peter adds, "soon, i promise. but not now."

and edmund feels a little guilty at feeling relieved.

SO THEN. i return peter to you, i still have edmund to wax rhapsodic about the philippines, and like. OH AND LIKE:

"corin," says peter thoughtfully. "you busy?"

and corin, who is, like, watching tv, says, "what, now?"

"no, maybe the next month or so."

corin looks at him.

BECAUSE NOW THAT EVERYONE (minus ed) HAS BEEN ROPED INTO DOING THE SMITHSONIAN HEIST, WHO IS LEFT TO TALK TO BISHOP ASLAN IN NEWWWWW ENGLAAAAAAND??

answer: corin.

CORIN IN NEW ENGLAND dhrfoaf;j

i was gonna have lucy seek out aslan but then i realized she can't really leave without the mob being suspicious.

damn! i was hoping to dump the smithsonian job on you. *pouts*

susan and lucy are waiting at the terminal for peter, but patriso's men get there first. at least, peter's pretty sure they're patriso's men and not abruzzi's. he could be wrong.

he doesn't look back over his shoulder at susan and lucy as they shove him along, out of the building and into the backseat of a car next to someone who he's never met, but whose face he knows just because it's good to know your enemies.

"mr. pevensie," don patriso says quietly.

peter swallows. "mr. patriso," he says in return.

"i've heard a lot about you." he pauses, and peter fills the silence with, "likewise."

"family is important, don't you think?"

"yes." what the hell is this about? "of course."

"especially when it's the only thing you have."

"to be fair, don patriso," peter says, because he's an idiot like that, "there's about seven hundred grand sitting in various back accounts across the world that say differently."

"but that's just money, mr. pevensie. that's just a thing. that's not family. family is something else."

"yes," peter agrees, warily. he has absolutely no idea where this is going, and he's not actually sure he wants to know.

but really. how much worse can it get?

patriso smiles at him winningly. "so, mr. pevensie," he says, "i hope that you understand where i'm coming from when i say that it seems that we both agree on this, and yet there are certain members of your family who don't even know if you're alive."

that much worse, apparently.

"it would," patriso adds, "be very good for all involved if you and your sisters and your brother were to pay your parents a visit. i believe they still live in finchley."

WHA, ARE YOU KIDZ, i dunno how to construct heist action! i have never even been to the smithsonian! BUT I WILL SEE WHAT I CAN DO. it would probably involve the pevensies thinking ruefully that caspian is no edmund, but then caspian proves himself in other ways...

BUT FIRST.

on the way to atlantic city, they spend the night at a comfort inn in the boonies of pennsylvania. and after lucy and susan have gone to bed, edmund watches the news on mute and close-caption. news about the missing pevensie children are beginning to show up less and less, which is good and bad. good 'cos it's easier for them to slip under the radar now, and bad because that means less shots on TV of his friends and relatives, and he kind of has grown used to seeing their faces, blank with worry, saying how they were such good kids, they are missed, etc. photos of an exuberant lucy with her cheerleading friends in uniform, a scrappy yearbook photo of peter smiling a twisted not-a-smile, a better one of susan (a better smile), and the really dorky one of himself from the time the quizbowl team took second place. (ugh, he thinks when he sees that. remembers the frustration of sitting out on the round when no one else on the team knew what color the stars are on the flag of new zealand.) and greg flaherty and his stupid face saying, "the older two, though, they kind of had a reputation," before a straight-faced hairsprayed newscaster goes contemplates the connections peter had with the falcone gang and the night the electricity was cut on grant street.

you've always wanted adventure, edmund thinks grimly to himself. but he is also a kid, and he misses his home, and the pizza place by the school. and internet. and not having to worry about gas money. and--

stop it, he tells himself.

the door opens and peter's back from buying cigarettes at the corner store. edmund looks at him.

peter says, "let's go for a drive."

+

through the quiet pennsylvania town, and past city limits. edmund asks him where they're going and peter says he'll see. doing 70 on the highway just 'cos they can, past headlights and road signs, and edmund turns on the radio and they listen to 80s rock until peter makes fun of him for nodding along to bon jovi.

"where are we going?" asks edmund, when peter goes off the highway. "we're not leaving the girls behind are we?"

"of course not."

fields and farms, miles of flatness all around and nothing no landmarks to tell them where they are. and peter says, "perfect."

he parks by an empty field.

"what are you doing?" edmund asks when peter starts rummaging around under the seat. "what are you looking for?"

and when peter pulls out the gun, edmund blanches.

peter says, "you're going to have to learn to shoot one of these someday. may as well be today."

+

the gun is heavy in his hands, heavier than he would have thought, but then again what does he know about guns. it feels too big, or maybe edmund feels suddenly small, he doesn't know. he thinks of cop shows and action films, and bruce willis, and world war 2.

"put your pointer finger here," says peter, his hands gentle on edmund's. "don't put your thumb there. move your left hand here."

"how many times have you shot a gun?" edmund asks.

peter says, "i don't know."

"have you ever killed anyone?"

"straighten your elbow."

and when he presses the trigger, the gun explodes. edmund can't really put it any other way -- he sees now why peter drove them all the fucking way out here. it explodes and jumps in his hand like a living thing and he almost drops it, but he doesn't, and is glad. and what he's thinking is how hollywood sound designers have been lying to the public for years; it's not a bang or a pow or any of that shit -- it is something that leaves his ears ringing, his hands shaking, and the air smelling like sulfur.

"you have to watch for the kickback," says peter, and edmund says, annoyance covering up his nerves, "yeah, you could've told me that earlier."

peter says, "try again."

LASS LASS YOU READ MY MIND WTF.

i have to get this scene out immediately before you READ MY MIND SOME MORE.

she's taken edmund and lucy out for ice cream at the nearest ben & jerry's -- something normal, she says to peter, who's lying in bed with an arm over his eyes as he alternatively contemplates the museum plans he's sweet-talked out of the records keeper at city hall and the ceiing -- and they're on their way back to the motel when she notices that there are more cars in the parking lot than there were when they left. well, whatever, it's a motel, probably somebody else checked in.

except. some of these cars look familiar, and some of them have plates from their home state, and does one of them have a bumper sticker that says finchley lions?

and then she's reaching for the door, key in hand, peter yells, "susan, it's a trap, it's --"

and then the door opens and gino ventucchio grabs her arm and pulls her inside, shoving her into the wall and bringing lucy in. "where's the kid?" dino falcone barks. "the kid brother, edmund, whatever --"

"he's -- he wanted to go to the bookstore," lucy lies, voice high and scared and breathless.

gino's fingers dig into her arm as he swings susan around. she can see peter lying on the floor of the room, blood all over his face and dino falcone standing over him with a gun in his hand.

"they don't have anything to do with this," peter says, "jesus, dino, they don't have anything to do with this."

"yeah?" dino says, and leans forward, trailing the barrel of the gun up along the side of peter's face, down beneath his jaw, and susan hears the terrified sound she makes in the back of her throat. she reaches for lucy and gino lets her.

there are eight or nine men crammed in here, dino falcone's gang, and god, how did they find them, how did they --

"you know, pete," dino says, "when you ran, you did a stupid thing, bringing your family with you, because it told us where we could hit you and hit you hard."

"jesus, dino, if you hurt them i swear to god --"

"hurt them?" dino says. "oh, i'm not going to hurt them. i'm going to make you watch them die. although," he adds, looking back at susan with her arms around lucy, "maybe we'll have a little fun first. say, if those rumors are true, maybe you want to tell me a little bit about what she likes. are you fucking both your sisters or just susan?"

peter growls, low in the back of his throat. "i swear to god i'll kill you if you put so much as a finger on them."

dino looks back over his shoulder at gino, and gino laughs and grabs susan's chin with his hands. his kiss is rough and penetrating and ungentle and peter shouts, "i swear to god, ventucchio --!" and then he's off her, and reaching for lucy.

there's a sharp crack as lucy's scream is cut off by gino, and while susan's trying vainly to strike out at gino, at the others, she sees dino pistol-whip peter again. peter spits blood in his face.

"you got one of my boys killed," dino says, and peter says, "i didn't, jesus, i didn't know the guard was there, i --"

"you've got nicky's blood on your hands, pevensie," and peter's shaking his head, blood all over his face, and then dino turns the gun on susan.

she grabs lucy, wraps her arms around her sister, and tries to pull lucy's head against her shoulder, saying, "don't look, don't look."

"please," peter says, "dino, please, god, fuck you, do whatever you want to me, kill me, but don't hurt my family, please."

and it's the first time in eighteen years of walking the same earth that susan's ever heard peter beg for anything.

"nicky carlotti," dino says. "niccolo carlotti. say it. say it!"

"nicky carlotti," peter repeats, "jesus, dino, he was my friend too, just don't, please --"

and then the closed bathroom door bangs open, and edmund's there, a gun in his hands. "you get away from him," he says, his voice shaking, but his hands are steady. "you get the hell away from my brother, you fucking mafia asshole."

"edmund," susan says before she can help herself.

"you didn't check the goddammn window?" dino spits at someone.

"the kid's not going to shoot anyone," gino says.

"you get the hell away from peter," edmund says, "you leave my sisters alone, you --"

"edmund, jesus," is all peter says.

dino puts the gun back against peter's jaw and peter closes his eyes, then opens them again. his throat moves shallowly, he's shaking.

"get the hell away from --"

"i'm going to pull the trigger," dino warns, and then edmund shoots him.

lucy screams, and susan thinks that she might have too, but afterward what she sees is peter on his feet with dino's gun in his hands, staring down as dino lifts his fingers to the spreading stain on his chest. peter points the gun at gino. "you get the fuck away from my sisters," he orders. "get him out of here. get out of here."

and then, belying that, he moves forward and grabs edmund's arm, hustling the three of them out the door in front of him. "you stay away from us," he says, walking backwards with the gun pointed into the room. "you stay the hell away from us." to susan, "get them in the car and drive."

everything they own is in that room. she doesn't look back.

in the back seat, on the highway, peter has to pry edmund's fingers away from the gun. "it's all right," he says, "it's all right. ed, look at me. look at me." and in the rearview mirror susan can see him cup his hands around edmund's face, holding him steady, and that edmund is crying silently.

peter is the one bleeding from a dozen different places, and she's never seen him so calm. lucy twists around in the passenger seat to look back, wide-eyed.

"you did the right thing," peter tells him. "you did the right thing. you had to do it. say it."

edmund licks his lips and swallows. "i did the right thing," he croaks. "i had to -- pete, i had to! he was going to kill you, he was going to kill su and lu and he was -- he was --"

"yeah, he was," peter says, "and i'm sorry, i'm sorry --" and he pulls edmund into a hug, and susan, watching, sees the way he flinches when edmund falls into him. three of the fingers on peter's left hand are broken.

"we have to go to a hospital," she says. "peter --"

"keep driving," he says. "just keep driving."

fhdsakjdflsd EDMUND OMG fshkfdskj familyyyyyyyyy

also sfhskljk AHAHAHAHA WHAT DID I TELL YOU. NO RETURN. i had been wanting to write about peter teaching edmund to shoot since i pressed 'post' on susan discovering the gun. that scene like vomited itself out of my fingers.

OMG I AM TOTALLY GONNA WATCH MERLIN INSTEAD OF DOING STATS OR FINALIZING MY PAPER so baddddd

they're at a rest stop on the highway somewhere in new jersey -- it's back to avoiding motels again. it's dusk in autumn and the horizon is streaked gold, and for a few minutes the undersides of distant clouds were brilliantly ochre and pink and, man, it was awesome. and peter is thinking maybe he's beginning to get used to that: to have blood on his hands and to love the sun with the same breath.

he leans against the trunk of the car. edmund and lucy are curled up together on the backseat; he can hear them murmuring to each other. susan emerges from the toilet and leans against the car beside him. she offers him a cigarette. he refuses.

she lights one up. "you kept the gun."

"yeah." he adds, "of course."

and they don't say anything for a while after that, not until susan is halfway through her cigarette and she says, "how are your fingers?"

lucy, who had been in the middle of EMS classes when they got the hell out of finchley, had splinted them. the bruises on his face are beginning to swell, and the cuts to coagulate. but he's okay, and peter tells her this. he asks, "are you okay?"

susan says, "yeah." she says, "i'm just glad we're all still alive."

peter smiles at her, but she doesn't smile back.

IT IS CRAZY I TELL YOU CRAZY. BRAINSHARE OHMYGOD for some reason i suddenly want pancakes. wtf, brain?

that scene was in my brain even before you posted your edmund and peter and gun scene! since you posted your susan and peter and gun scene! because we need to prove the threat is real! (oh my god, at some point this weekend i'm going to put all this in a worddoc just to see what the wordcount on this is.)

the thing is -- the thing is. they get a motel room a few nights later, about ten states over, and susan does her best at drowning herself in the bath, filling the bathroom with steam as she soaks. when she comes out, it's to find lucy and edmund asleep, curled up against each other in the same bed, and peter sprawled in an armchair. there's an unopened bottle of jd beside him, the gun next to it -- the bigger one, the one he took off dino falcone -- and in one hand he's holding the hotel phone and in the other a business card.

susan comes over, toweling her hair dry, and drops the towel on the bed. "peter," she says, and puts her hand on his shoulder.

he flinches before he looks up at her. he looks both very young and very old at once. "su," he says, awkward and tired.

she says, "what are you looking at?"

he holds up the card. it's the one they got from the stranger back in atlantic city, and there's no name on it, just a number.

"do you think we should," he says.

"now wouldn't really be the best time," susan says. "it's the middle of the night."

peter catches his bottom lip between his teeth and puts the phone down. susan leans over to put the card next to it, and while she's there, she kisses peter. he kisses her back, and there's a feeling of desperation there that hasn't been present for a long time, since the first time. she straddles his lap, tucking her bathrobe up around her thighs, and hears peter's low groan, and then his flinch as she jars one of the cuts on his face.

"i was afraid," peter tells her quietly. "i was scared out of mind."

"for yourself?"

"for you. i've never wanted to see you less in my life."

"oh peter," susan says, and kisses him again. she pulls his t-shirt off over his head and flings it blindly aside and goes back to kissing him, her hands splayed on his chest, bare skin to bare skin. warmth. she can feel his heartbeat. connection.

they're all still alive.

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1/2

2/2

KEEPING WITH THEME 1/2

KEEPING WITH THEME 2/2

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keeping with theme THE REMIX 1/2

keeping with theme THE REMIX 2/2

backstory of LOVE

backstory of LOVE 2/2

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still on backstory! just a little ways down the line

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part two

Re: part two

Re: part two

Re: KEEPING WITH THEME 2/2